


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by firesign10



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas, Eventual Romance, Loneliness, M/M, Office Party, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: Neal attends the White Collar holiday party, but feels like an outcast. He decides to go over to Peter's house and winds up sitting outside in the cold and the wind to wait for Peter. Meanwhile, Peter is anxiously looking for him, and finally realizes where Neal might be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 White Collar H/C Advent. I started with this anonymous prompt from the Prompts post: "Neal is sick (something minor) and feeling vulnerable because of it. Peter or Elizabeth say something unintentionally insensitive and hurt his feelings. He decides to skip the White Collar Unit's holiday party because he feels unwanted".... and then modified it.
> 
> Thanks to the White Collar H/C Mods for hosting this! And huge thanks to my lovely beta, theatregirl7299 who also served as my White Collar consultant.

Neal gazed out of the window, eyes drifting over the New York cityscape. The black poles of the streetlights had big red bows fastened onto them, and many of the shop windows had festive displays with white or multi-colored lights strung around them. The snow was freshly fallen and had yet to become grimy and gray. It was a pretty holiday scene, right out of a Christmas card.

Nonetheless, he sighed disconsolately. Turning back to the conference room, he studied its decorations. More lights, blue and white this time, strung around all the enormous windows. The big conference table was covered with trays of canapes and appetizers, with the end section reserved for cookies and fudge. One of the filing cabinets along the wall had been repurposed as a wine bar, and another held an array of soft drinks and ice. Sparkly ornaments of all colors hung from the ceiling, and soft holiday music provided a bed for the conversations going on around the room.

_Seems like everyone has someone to talk to,_ thought Neal gloomily. _Well, almost everyone._

He wandered over to the wine bar and greeted Diana. She was chatting with a couple of other agents, and after he poured himself some red wine, he hung around with a smile, sipping his wine in an effort to look convivial. It was a little difficult trying to conceal his distaste for the 'wine'. Diana smiled at him a couple of times as the conversation went on, but he might as well have been invisible to the other two people. Finally, he turned away and moved on.

There was Jones—that was good, Jones liked him. Respected him, as an agent and a man. He went over and clapped Jones on the back. “Hey, man! How are you doing?”

“Good, good, how about you?” Jones shook his hand. Turning to the other men, he said, “Guys, you cannot believe the _luck_ this dude has with the ladies! He has some slick moves, I'm telling you!”

Neal chuckled, waiting for the claim to be challenged and ready with a couple of amusing anecdotes. But Jones was still talking, relating one of their adventures. Then the other men chimed in with their own stories, or called Jones on his bullshit, in general engaging in the posturing men do when there is no female around and they're drinking.

Neal drifted away. 

There were certainly people he knew attending this little shindig, although Jones and Diana were the only ones he'd truly call friends. He'd worked enough cases to recognize and greet a number of the party-goers. The only thing was that Neal knew he made a lot of them nervous. He'd come from the opposing side of the law, not from some university or special training unit. In fact, he still wore his tracking anklet, and that— _that_ gave a lot of them the heebie-jeebies.

It meant, Neal mused, that as the saying went, he was neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring. It meant that Neal was good enough to work with, to get the job done, but that was all he was good for. He'd left all of his criminal friends behind, but the Agency people had yet to embrace him. So, balanced on the edge of society's divide, he was alone.

Even at a crowded Christmas office party, Neal Caffrey was alone.

He put his drink down, having no more stomach for the sour taste. The gaily decorated cookies, the snacks, the savory hors d'oeuvres—all of them were colorless, cardboard and Styrofoam, and completely unappealing. He meandered toward the exit, making it look like a coincidence that he ended up there rather than a business-like bee-line that would draw attention. He was pretty sure no one was really going to notice his departure, but it was his habit to avoid attracting attention when he didn't need to.

At the doorway, he looked around one last time. The buzz was louder, the music lively, and clearly the drinks were flowing, judging by the flushed cheeks and vivacious conversations. It could have been recorded and presented as the definition of a successful holiday office party. 

Neal sighed and slipped out the door.

Peter hurried up the stars, cursing his lateness. Of course the day of the party was when he had to furnish the latest reports on three current cases. He hoped that all the good food wasn't gone already. Last year he'd missed the mini taco bar that Taxes had set up, and had to make do with the boring petite quiches from Accounting.

The music was loud enough to hear from the floor below. Peter loped up the last stairs and burst through the door. His first glance was directed at the food table. It looked well-stocked, and he smiled in anticipation.

His second was scanning the room for Neal.

When Peter couldn't locate Neal on the first sweep, he scolded himself for going too fast. Taking a breath, Peter went to the food table and grabbed a plate, loading it up with anything that looked interesting. Munching contentedly on a Chinese short rib, he looked around again, taking his time. There were a lot of people there, but Neal—he stood out with his crisp, bespoke suits, his artfully styled hair, his incredibly blue eyes. Sure, Neal could blend in when he wanted, but here at the Agency? Land of the bland suits? Neal stood out like a bird of paradise.

Licking sauce off his fingers, Peter moved onto a cheddar puff while he cruised down one side of the room. He nodded to this one and that one, wiped his fingers on a napkin and shook hands with Jones, embraced Diana by the drinks station. Trading in his empty plate for a whiskey on the rocks, Peter continued his journey around the party, but still—no Neal.

Sara appeared at his side, a glass of white wine in her hand. “Gee, I worked for you guys so much this year, they invited me to the party! Now, let me guess,” she smirked. “Looking for Caffrey?”

“Yeah, Sara, have you seen him? I told him I'd be here, and then I got hung up. Now I can't find him.” Peter anxiously took a gulp of his whiskey, coughing at the burn.

“I think he left.” Peter stared at her. “Seriously, Peter. I saw him over with Jones at one point, but then he was gone.” She sipped her wine and shrugged. “I just figured he had a better offer.”

“Thanks, Sara.” Peter kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

Peter walked over to Jones, who was laughing and joking with a bunch of other single men. He hailed Peter with a wave and a big grin. “Hey, boss. Happy holidays!”

“Happy holidays to you, Jones. Hey, any of you seen Neal around?”

Jones shook his head. “Nope, can't say I have.”

Peter was about to leave when one of the other guys spoke up. “Blue eyes? Dippety-do hair?”

“Yeah, that's him,” Peter said eagerly.

“Yeah, Jones, don't you remember? He came by when you were telling that awful story about trying to pick the cute DC cop up while looking for evidence in the dumpster.”

Jones smacked his head. “That's right! Yeah, he was here! But he moved on and I don't know where he is now.”

Peter sighed. “Thanks anyway.”

He sipped his whiskey as he looked around. He spotted Diana across the room, and made his way to her. She greeted him with a smile and a hug.

“Another year, another holiday,” she said, linking her arm through his.

“Yeah, it sure is. Listen, Diana, I'm looking for Neal, have you seen him?”

She looked at him archly. “Why are you looking for him? Do we have a new case?”

“No, I just...wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas,” Peter stuttered. He bolted the rest of his whiskey.

Diana gently steered him until they were by themselves. “Peter, we've worked together a long time now. I just want to say that if you've found someone you're interested in, then I think you should go for it. You are too nice, too smart, too attractive to be alone.” She patted his chest fondly.

Peter gaped at her, unable to think of a reply.

She kissed him on the cheek. “He stopped here for a few minutes, but I think he got bored. I don't know where he went after that. Maybe he left.”

“Thanks, Diana.”

Peter set his empty glass down randomly and headed for the door. He'd been all around the room, and Neal was nowhere to be found. Diana was probably right—Neal had probably already left the party.

But then where was he?

As Peter trotted down the stairs, he thought he might have an idea about that.

Neal huddled inside his topcoat. The wrought metal bench on Peter's patio was very pretty, but it was also very cold under his ass right now. His balls were chilling like shrimp on a bank of ice. The wind was coming and going, sharp enough to whistle down the neck of his coat or whip through his thin pants. And dammit, it looked like it was starting to snow.

Of course he could just pick the lock and go inside, shake off the ice crystals, avoid the wind. But after the chilly reception at the party, all Neal could think was maybe he deserved to be outside in the cold. He'd spent months trying to fit in, be one of the team, and none of it mattered. No one there seemed to give a rat's ass about Neal beyond the cases he helped them close.

In this morose frame of mind, Neal wondered if even Peter would want Neal inside his house. Maybe Peter would come home and tell Neal to get lost too, show him that he didn't care, that Neal was nothing. Nobody.

And that would hurt the worst of all. Neal bit his lip, scarcely tasting the blood. He really didn't know what he'd do if Peter rejected him. Neal could live with being ignored by everyone else at the Agency, but not Peter. He hadn't truly admitted to himself how important Peter was to him, how much working with him, sharing meals with him, hanging out together had become. He would never tell Peter how he really felt, being content to just be with him in any way Peter allowed, but...

_Please, please don't take that away..._ His eyes closed in a silent prayer, although he didn't even know who he addressed it to.

“Neal!”

A worried voice cut through the gloomy twilight. “Neal!”

Peter. Peter bustling over to Neal, grabbing him, almost shaking him.

“Neal, what on earth—why are you sitting out here? Jesus, you must be half-frozen!”

“Just the bottom half,” Neal whispered, his jaw muscles stiff from clenching in the cold.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Peter fumbled with the key to the back door, finally unlocking it and throwing the door open. “In! In!”

Closing the door behind them, Neal sighed with the quiet and warmth inside Peter's house. Peter was fussing about—getting Neal's coat off him, grabbing an afghan from the couch and wrapping him up in it. He gently pushed Neal to sit down and turned on the electric fire, then bustled into the kitchen. All the while, he exclaimed about the cold and Neal's foolishness, how he could have frozen himself, how lucky that Peter had come along when he did. _Very, very lucky,_ Neal thought dreamily, his body tingling as his circulation picked up. 

Peter sat down beside him, holding two cups. He put one on the coffee table and helped Neal get his hands around the other. Steam rose in tantalizing swirls from the mug.

“Tea?” asked Neal, watching his stiff fingers to make sure they didn't drop the cup.

“Hot toddy—tea, lemon, a spoonful of honey and a slug of good whiskey. Best thing to warm you up inside.” Peter cupped Neal's hand with his own, and Neal didn't know which felt better, the cup's heat or Peter's skin against his. “Sip it now, but take it slow.”

Neal sipped, and the smooth flavor of the tea melded with the tang of lemon, the sweetness of the honey, and the peaty whiskey deliciously. The warm slid down him and curled up in his belly, and he felt his body finally start to relax. 

Peter tugged Neal's shoes off and disappeared, returning with big woolly socks. “What are those?” Neal chuckled. “Planning a trip to the North Pole?”

“No, no. Got these for skiing a while back.” The socks looked ridiculous on Neal, but damn if they weren't toasty.

“Skiing!” Neal guffawed. “I need to see that. I need to video that and post it online.”

Peter laughed. “No, you really don't. I was a total klutz.” He settled down close to Neal, one arm around around Neal's shoulders and the other one holding his own toddy.

They sat quietly, drinking their toddies, watching the flames of the electric fire. Neal slowly eased into Peter's body as he relaxed, head pillowed on Peter's arm, Peter's heartbeat thumping against his back. He let his eyes close, and Peter gently took his toddy mug and put it on the table.

“Neal?” Peter's voice was so soft, Neal thought maybe he was dreaming it.

“Mm hmm?”

“Why'd you leave the party? And why were you waiting out in the cold?” Peter's hand rubbed Neal's arm. “I know you could have let yourself inside here.”

Whether it was the warmth unlocking his tongue or the whiskey, Neal found himself replying, “No one cared if I was there or not. Don't matter to anyone.” He sighed. “Wasn't sure if I deserved to come inside your house. You're Peter Burke. Only man to ever catch me. Only man I trust.” Another soft sigh. “You matter most of all.”

A blanket of soft, dark sleep rose up from Neal's toes, cocooning him. As he drifted away, he heard Peter whisper in his ear, “You matter, Neal. You matter more than you know.” Warm lips pressed against Neal's forehead, then brushed his mouth. “And I'm going to show you how much when you wake up. Sleep now.”


End file.
